Nicole would have thought that she had misheard or misunderstood him except the look on his face said otherwise. He didn’t look insane, he didn’t look angry, he didn’t look drunk or high, he just looked calm and composed. He’d said the wordsdead bodyas factually as if he’d said today’s weather was cold and windy.
She had to run.
To shout.
Anything.
She opened her mouth and took a step forward, but she didn’t get any further than that. A strong arm clamped her shoulder, holding her in place. His other hand was raised high above his head. His face never changed as he aimed the rock at her head. No emotion flickered in his eyes.
A scream was just tearing itself from her frozen throat but came out as nothing more than a strangled squawk as the rock connected with her skull.
The blow stunned her.
Her vision turned red.
Her hearing dulled.
Pain inundated her.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound, could barely breathe.
All she could do was think a short prayer that Sean would grow up okay without her.
The second blow brought with it an all-encompassing nothingness.
* * * * *
3:51 P.M.
Detective Jonathon Dawson stared down at the dead woman who lay at his feet.
Nicole Carmichael was thirty-seven years old. Average height, a little too thin. Beneath the blood was what had been a pretty face framed by long blonde hair now matted and stained.
She reminded him of his fiancée.
He and Clara were just eleven days out from their wedding day. Eleven days and the woman he loved would officially be his. He couldn’t wait. Literally. It was torture. If he could marry her this second, he would. He had almost lost Clara once. It could just have easily been another detective standing over her dead body, trying to figure out who had killed her.
Thankfully, the threat to Clara’s life had been eliminated, but whoever had taken Nicole Carmichael’s life was still out there.
“No signs of a scuffle,” his partner was saying.
“No defensive wounds either,” Jonathon added.
Curly blonde hair framed Allina Bennett’s pretty face, her blue eyes looked thoughtful. “So, she either knew her attacker or he surprised her, didn’t give her an opportunity to fight back.”
“I see blood on her hand. From the head wound, Tracey?” he asked the medical examiner.
Tracey gently grasped Nicole's still hand. “Nope,” she replied a moment later. “There’s a cut here.”
“Maybe itisa defensive wound,” he amended. Perhaps Nicole had fought back after all, which would change their whole scenario.
“I don’t think so,” a voice announced behind them.
They all turned to see crime scene tech Kane Curtis, crouching down and examining something on the ground a little further down the alley. Kane was also Tracey’s husband. The two had been happily married for close to fifteen years now and had a plethora of fur babies.
“What did you find?” Allina asked.
“Shards of glass and some blood. I’m thinking the cut on her hand is from this.”